


Gold

by roosebolton



Category: Andrew Hozier-Byrne (Musician)
Genre: Alternate Universe, I did not even want to be writing this, I missed you in the basement, M/M, RPF, Song: Gold (Kiiara), but suddenly I found myself writing it, but your brother was a good substitute for you, inspired specifically by, why did I write this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-10
Updated: 2019-08-10
Packaged: 2020-08-14 08:22:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20189221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roosebolton/pseuds/roosebolton
Summary: A basement party with friends doesn't end as he might have wanted.





	Gold

**Author's Note:**

> If you've never heard [the song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sO9cBXRcBvo), it might help you understand both the frame of mind I was in while writing this and the setting.

They spent the evening drinking and dancing into the night, the music turned up as loud as they could stand it. The crowd wasn’t wall to wall, but it was a big enough group that it made it hard to see, unless you were as tall as he was. He took another swig of whatever was in his plastic cup, a crack in the plastic sharp against his lip. He didn’t know every single person in the room, but if they weren’t friends, they were friends of friends, which made them close enough. 

A short, cute brunette who he didn’t recognise asked him to dance. His eyes darted around the room before saying yes. She took his hand, the one not wrapped around a red plastic cup, and dragged him further into the warm mass of bodies. 

Dancing to him mostly meant swaying in time to the music, and trying his best not to spill his drink. He couldn’t focus on her, even though she was a better dancer, and she was pretty, and smiling, and _ there_. 

Taking another drink, a gut feeling caused him to look toward the door to the basement just in time to see two lads, one in black jeans, black t-shirt, black leather jacket, the other in blue jeans and red plaid, and the first genuine smile of the night crept across his face.

The girl looked a little hurt when he left her, but his eyes weren’t looking at her anyway.

“Hey,” he said to the lighter haired one dressed in black.

“Hey.” 

“Fashionably late as always, I see,” he said with a bashful grin, unable to play it cool.

“Want me to grab drinks?” said the plaid-wearing one. 

“Yeah. Yeah,” said his brother in black, and before long all three of them had the same red plastic cups with whatever liquor had been poured into them.

He held his cup in the air toward the brothers. “Cheers, lads.”

“Sláinte,” said the one in black with a smile, and they all took a drink.

Two or three or four drinks later, some slow trad tune was blasting from the speakers, half the room drunkenly singing along, and he was trying his best, his usually crisp voice a mumble, some of the words forgotten, when the lighter haired of the two brothers appeared in front of him, his mouth in an amused smirk, a smeared lipstick print on his cheek.

What he thought in that moment was _ I don’t normally do this but _ and _ do you mind if we _ and _ we’re all friends here, aren’t we though _ and _ do you want to get out of here and maybe… _ but what he did was wordlessly drape his arms loosely over the other man’s shoulders with a shy smile. 

“Thought you didn’t care for dancing,” said his partner, placing both hands on his waist.

“I don’t,” he said, but they swayed together to the music anyway, the heat of the liquor and the night and the other man’s touch rising to his cheeks.

When the song was over and some other raucous party jam took its place, the blond man took his hands away (_don’t. please don’t? _) and walked away with a wink.

After that, and another cup or two of drink, the rest of the night was a blur. 

What he remembered after that was this: 

Enough liquor in him - liquid courage - he made up his mind to finally _ ask_.

He looked around the room for the man in the leather jacket, but all he saw was his brother in the corner of the room, still clutching his cup for dear life.

He asked him where his brother had gone, and…

“Oh, he left with some girl about twenty minutes ago, I think. He didn’t say goodbye to you?”

_ Oh. _ He was too drunk to hide his disappointment.

*

The next morning, he was still a little drunk, though not hung over at least. He rolled over in the bed with eyes closed and was half-surprised to find another person in bed with him. The other person wrapped one arm around him, warm.

“Morning,” said the deep voice next to him, and his heart beat faster.

_ But didn’t you… I thought… did we…? _

Blinking his eyes open, he looked up in expectance, smiling, only to see... dark hair, not blond.

_ Wrong brother. _

His face fell, and clearly the other man noticed.

“Not what you expected, eh?” He squeezed a little with the arm he had around him. “Had a feeling you might not remember what you said to me last night.”

“What did I say?” he said, a little scared.

“That in the dark it wouldn’t matter. That our voices sound real similar and I made a good enough substitute.” He snickered. “I wasn’t even hurt, we _ do _ sound similar. And, you know, I was drunk too, and probably past the point of caring. Anyway, that’s when I realised you were in love with my brother.”

He wasn’t sober enough yet to protest; all he could manage was a “Hey.”

“Yeah?”

He scooted closer, closing his eyes. “Don’t tell him. Any of… any of this, I mean.”

“I won’t.”

“And…” He buried his face in the wrong brother’s shoulder.

“And?”

“Thanks for being here.”


End file.
